


would you come and brighten my corner

by paeoniia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abuse, Angst, BRIEFLY mentioned underage sex, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paeoniia/pseuds/paeoniia
Summary: Telling the truth--admitting what’s wrong with him right now is actually beyond his physical capabilities. But Felix has an innate ability to see through liars, and lying is Sylvain’s entire game. Perhaps normally, Felix allows him to lie, because he isn’t usually lyingtoFelix. He feels guiltier at the idea that Felix might feel like he isn’t worth the truth.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i meant for this to be a one-shot but it felt like it was getting too long, so, two chapters. hopefully i got all the ages on everything right...  
> cw for child abuse (miklan is here, so, you know) and brief mention of underage sex (sylvain is here, so, you know)  
> no beta, first time writing felix (lol), my interpretation of something every sylvix writer has probably written about already. lets all pray its decent!
> 
> everything i post is late, but this is for sylvix week! day 4: warmth. it... it will be more obvious in the next chapter, i swear...

Fhirdiad brings everyone together, often. Sylvain is fifteen, and there’s a _ball_. Normally, nothing would have stopped him from entertaining. Beautiful women were everywhere, and Ingrid, Felix, and Glenn were here, as well as obviously Dimitri. Felix, of course, has no interest in a ball, and spends the day sulking and huffing about it in his endearing little way. Ingrid makes a mention a few times, especially when Felix is out of earshot, that she’s nervous about dancing with Glenn, but he can see a soft flush on her cheeks when she says it. Ingrid is like one of the boys to Sylvain, nothing like the other women he’s learning to entertain himself with. She’s rough enough to stand up to the rest of her friends, and probably more willing to get dirty than any of them, short of Felix. Sylvain has never seen her talk about boys, but she’s looking older now, and her since-birth engagement to Glenn is probably weighing on her mind a lot more heavily. Sylvain teases her, because he’s just a good friend like that, and he pays for it with a jab in the ribs that hits him right on a huge, healing bruise.

A ball, beautiful women, and his best friends are typically more than enough for Sylvain. But House Margrave didn’t want to put out the royal family, and they are staying in two rooms, incidentally not very close to each other. His parents in one room, and he and Miklan in the other. Sylvain is used to Miklan breathing down his neck, but when he has his friends around, he usually has a little solace from him. He isn’t used to sharing a room with him, and the idea of sleeping, vulnerable while his brother does who knows what is something that keeps Sylvain from loosening up all night. Normally, he’d suggest they steal a little wine, being the bad, older influence that he is. Instead, he’s pretty quiet as he sits beside Felix at the table and watches Ingrid dance with Glenn, and Dimitri, awkward as anything, dance with a few women who have the potential to be queen next. 

He knows this is uncharacteristic of him, now. His father started looking into suitors for him a few years ago, and Sylvain has learned very quickly that women like him a lot. It’s been confusing, in truth. He doesn’t think you’re supposed to have sex with your suitors before marriage--and he will definitely keep the fact that he has to himself--but it seems a lot of the women are okay with it. Or more than okay with it. He’s also starting to learn that women want him for his title, his power, his Crest. His damned Crest. He’s at odds with it. Is it good women want him for it? He doesn’t know, but Miklan doesn’t like seeing girls flirt with him, and when a new suitor visits to meet Sylvain, while none visit for Miklan, Sylvain pays for it whenever Miklan finds a moment they’re alone without guards. Sometimes with guards, as well. What can they do? Harm the heir of House Gautier to protect the second son? It’s only ever his bad arm twisted behind his back before he gets shoved into a wall, or something along those lines anyway. A moment of pain that goes away with Miklan does.

But Miklan is at the ball tonight, too. His parents have begged for him to be on his best behavior, and they have done the same with Sylvain. No fooling around. Don’t be a pig, this one specifically to Sylvain, as if they didn’t try to get him hooked on women and sex in the first place. Be gentlemanly. Don’t embarrass their family. No horseplay. _Horseplay_. As if that was what Miklan did to him. Sylvain can’t relax, even beside Felix, because he can feel his brother’s eyes on his neck, and they burn harsher every time a woman approaches to ask him to dance. Sylvain lies easily. He’s keeping Felix company. The food didn’t agree with him so he’ll have to sit it out. He injured himself training, so he’d have two left feet. He’ll catch up with her later tonight. He just wants Miklan to stop watching him. Stop finding reasons to be angry at him. Stop--

“What’s wrong with you tonight?”

Felix’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Sylvain realizes suddenly that he’s gotten too into his own head to even hear the music around them. He recovers smoothly, another thing Miklan has taught him well, quirking an eyebrow at Felix as if _he’s_ the one acting weird tonight. “Hm?”

“You…” Felix pauses, looking away from Sylvain and at the dance floor. Sylvain watches the young Fraldarius closely. Felix has started to change, lately. There had never been any doubt that Felix was the baby of the group before. Teary-eyed, clingy, loud, and sometimes overly cautious. Felix is like a limpet, following Dimitri like a shadow sometimes and Sylvain others. Maybe because Sylvain is older, he sees him less like a rival, like he sees Dimitri. Felix loves Dimitri, obviously, and Dimitri is soft and kind and loves him too. But Felix has also challenged Dimitri to fights for as long as they’ve been friends, and lost most of those times, too. Dimitri is too strong. Contrarily, Felix has never really ‘challenged’ Sylvain, only sparred with him. But the lack of rivalry between them means that Felix comes to Sylvain for everything else that he can, too, and because Gautier and Fraldarius are not so far, they see each other without Dimitri or Ingrid often, too. Felix was never afraid to cry in front of Sylvain, or seek the older man for comfort, and Sylvain has always cherished that relationship, and cherished the idea of being someone that Felix could rely on when it seems Sylvain can be relied on for little else.

He’s changing, though. He keeps his feelings more to himself. He hides his face when his emotions show too much. He grits his teeth instead of crying. Sylvain can still see the same emotions swirling under the surface of the younger boy, but he doesn’t want to show them anymore. And yeah, Sylvain doesn’t have any right to be critical of that. But he misses being Felix’s safety blanket, too.

“You’re doing it again. Are you even listening to me?”

Oh, shit. Felix was talking, that’s right. “Sorry, got distracted.” His eyes drift to the dance floor, able to land on any random woman with ease. Felix follows his gaze and his eyebrows threaten to join together across the center of his face.

“Tch,” a new sound from Felix. Sylvain isn’t used to eliciting frustration from his friend. It’s probably puberty. Felix has a sudden desire to be a man, not a sniffling crybaby. Sylvain doesn’t have any right to tell him he likes him as a sniffling crybaby, either. 

But it’s also scary to think he’s frustrating someone who means so much to him, since he already seems to be a disappointment and frustration to everyone else in his life, so he tries a little harder. He laughs easily, waving his hand to dismiss Felix’s bad attitude. “Sorry, sorry! I’ll listen this time.”

“You’re acting weird,” Felix says, more bluntly this time, and Sylvain tilts his head to the side like he’s waiting for more. “You always want to dance with girls.”

“If I don’t stay with you, some scary woman will snap you up. I’m protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Felix grounds out, but he also doesn’t look like he wants a scary woman to snap him up. Sylvain doesn’t think he’s that far into puberty yet. Felix is still fixated on swords and being the best, and he doesn’t spare a glance for women. He and Ingrid were a lot alike in that regard, until tonight at least. 

“I like doing it,” Sylvain adds, tilting his head again with a small smile. He’s learned women like when he does that, so maybe Felix will find some kind of charm in it, too.

He does not. Felix stands up abruptly, and his chair screeches on the floor, but luckily the bustling ball covers the noise, although Felix looks embarrassed that the chair screeched in the first place. He pushes it back into the table a little more gently, leaving Sylvain to stare at him dumbly through the entire cascade of events. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’m going.”

“Going?”

“Going.”

“Going where?” Sylvain asks, hopeful that if he can push, Felix will reveal his bluff and stay with him. “To dance with a lovely lady?”

“Maybe!” But Felix’s face turns red, and he shrugs stubbornly. “Just going. Without you, so you can’t use me as an excuse.”

“I’ll go with you.” There isn’t urgency obvious in his voice, but it’s under the surface, and his hands start to reach for Felix’s sleeve--used to the boy clinging and holding his hand when he was younger--but he stops himself, wondering if Miklan is watching, if he’d see. He has no idea what it would mean, if he did see, but he doesn’t want to find out either. “Where are we going?”

“We aren’t going anywhere!” Felix is getting a little red in the face, and guilt twists in Sylvain’s stomach. Telling the truth--admitting what’s wrong with him right now is actually beyond his physical capabilities. But Felix has an innate ability to see through liars, and lying is Sylvain’s entire game. Perhaps normally, Felix allows him to lie, because he isn’t usually lying _to_ Felix. He feels guiltier at the idea that Felix might feel like he isn’t worth the truth to Sylvain.

“Please stop shouting,” Sylvain whispers, and there must be desperation in his voice, because Felix bristles a little less. “Come sit, and I’ll… I’ll tell you.”

Felix seems to think and weigh his options for a moment. Sylvain gets the feeling his acceptance is very conditional, but Felix finally sits back down, and his eyes are boring into Sylvain. The second pair of eyes boring into him tonight. It gives him a little chill, and he shifts to face Felix and put Miklan out of his peripheral vision. “Okay. I’m just a little worried about where I’m sleeping tonight. I know that that doesn’t sound like a big deal--” right, because if he lies, Felix will get angry, and he isn’t lying but he isn’t really telling the truth, either. “But, you know--it kind of is, too.”

“What?” Felix does not look convinced, and he’s glaring his confusion at Sylvian. Sylvain wants to soothe his fingers over his eyebrows and draw them back into a calm, neutral position by force. “You don’t have a bedroom?”

He sounds incredulous, and that’s pretty fair. “I _do_ have a bedroom. I’m sharing with Miklan,” his voice falls a little softer at his brother’s name inadvertently, but he’s afraid of his brother overhearing. Felix still looks baffled. “I feel--well… Miklan probably doesn’t want me to stay there. All these girls… I’m sure he wants to bring one back to the room. I think he’ll lock me out.” It’s like, almost completely a lie. But it’s true in some ways. He _does_ think Miklan would like to bring one of the girls back to his room. He _does_ think getting locked out is a possibility. He does _not_ think he’d get locked out so that Miklan could bring a girl back, because he doesn’t think any girls here will go for Miklan, but maybe it’s true enough for Felix to believe him. 

“That’s stupid,” Felix grumbles, and there’s a little color on his cheeks. It reminds Sylvain of Felix’s age, though he’s been trying to act more grown up. Well, Sylvain had crushes when he was thirteen, but who is he to judge Felix? Obviously Felix thinks it’s stupid to bring a girl back to his room. That’s Felix. “They shouldn’t make you share rooms.”

“Well, it makes sense,” Sylvain offers, even though he agrees that his life would be so much better if they weren’t sharing rooms. “Why give the rooms with only one bed to anyone but the married couples? There’s two beds, so… you know.”

“Glenn and I got separate rooms.”

“Oh.” That shuts Sylvain up for a moment. “Because… what… Glenn…?” he looks out at the dancefloor, at Glenn and Ingrid talking, but Ingrid is still so young, and they’re only engaged, he can’t imagine anything was going to happen.

He isn’t allowed to either, because Felix is barking again. “No! Not--not that.” And now he’s flustered and ducking his head again, and Sylvain frowns, but just looks back at him for an explanation. “I think it’s just because we’re more highly ranked than you.”

“You’re never one to mince words, Felix!” Sylvain laughs, but that probably is the answer. Margraves are not quite as important as dukes, and Glenn is going to be the next duke. Meanwhile, Sylvain’s parents are always talking about which son is going to be the next margave, as if it’s up for debate. Miklan is older. Sylvain has a Crest. Only one of these factors should matter, and in Sylvain’s opinion, it’s their ages. “I guess that could be it. Lucky!”

Felix doesn’t agree or disagree, just gives a small shrug. Sylvain’s expression softens as he watches his friend. For all his bravado, he’s probably still just a kid who wants his brother with him in Fhirdiad’s huge palace. Felix opens his mouth, and Sylvain waits, but he closes it again and his lips are a thin, downturned line. He pauses for a moment, and decides to speak instead. “Well… maybe I could stay with you,” he offers, cautiously watching Felix’s face. He thinks that’s what Felix was trying to offer, and he hopes to the Goddess he’s right.

Felix doesn’t turn red or haughty or shouty, so he thinks maybe it was the right choice. Instead, he gives a small, terse nod, finally looking up at Sylvain again. “If you want.”

“Thank you.” He really means that. Felix shrugs in return.

  
  


The party drags on so late that everyone is starting to get tired. Felix has bags forming under his eyes, and Ingrid looks worn out from dancing. Dimitri wears his fatigue the most obviously, but he’s a peculiar mix of giddy and exhausted, peaking over his shoulder every now and then at the girl he’d been dancing with. Sylvain swears that Dimitri falls in love with everyone who’s nice to him, and most people are nice to him. He doesn’t know if it’s endearing or sad, but he looks pretty cute right now. When Ingrid starts falling asleep at the table, Sylvain suggests they go to bed and let the grown ups keep partying, if that’s what they want to do. “I’ll walk you back to your room,” he offers Ingrid, and since Felix is sharing with Sylvain, Felix comes. And since Dimitri doesn’t want to be left out, he comes, too. 

Ingrid is practically asleep by the time she’s back to her room, yawning so big that it distorts the way she says ‘good night.’ Dimitri’s giddiness starts to dissipate, and Sylvain suddenly feels like he’s everyone else’s escort. How are they all so tired? Sylvain is wide awake still. Maybe he really should have stolen some wine.

They say goodnight to Dimitri, and then Sylvain lets Felix lead, because he isn’t sure where his bedroom is. Felix meanders a little like he isn’t totally sure, but when they find a room, they know its the right one by the sword left sitting by the desk. Felix wanders over to it first, running his fingers along the hilt for just a moment before abandoning it, sighing loudly and starting to disrobe. Sylvain averts his gaze, and it moves to the bed, of which there is only one.

“We’re sharing?” he asks easily, because it wouldn’t be the first time. Just the first time in a while. 

“Yeah,” Felix says, without an ounce of self consciousness. Maybe the tiredness is making his voice lower and his words shorter, too.

Sylvain shrugs, and starts to disrobe as well. He doesn’t have his own clothes here, and he doesn’t fit into Felix’s, but he doesn’t want to go back to his own room, either. He’s finally at ease now that he can’t feel Miklan staring at him, even if he isn’t sure if he’ll pay for ditching him tomorrow. Sighing to himself, he discards the extra layers, undershirt rising up to reveal some of his skin as he pulls off the heavier, fancier garments.

“What is that?”

Felix’s voice is sharp again, and Sylvain looks up quickly in response. He’s looking at him, but Sylvain has no idea why, looking down at himself and coming up with no answers. Felix walks towards him, although it’s closer to _stomps_ towards him, and his hands touch Sylvain’s undershirt, tugging it up a little aggressively. Sylvain can’t even process what’s happening, looking at Felix with unmasked confusion until he feels Felix’s fingers on his skin, and hisses.

“Oh, that.”

Felix looks up, arching an eyebrow in a silent demand for an answer as he moves his hand away again, but keeps the undershirt up. The bruise on Sylvain’s side is dark, deep purple flecked with red, skin puckered towards the middle of the bruise where it’s healing a gash that looks just as much part of the bruise. Really, Sylvain understands the concern. It’s an enormous bruise. But he pushes Felix’s fingers off his shirt, letting it hang back down and hide the bruise again. “I got it training.”

“Then you’re training too hard. You’re not advanced enough if you’re getting bruises like that.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Fe,” Sylvain laughs, used to being called weak by now. “Yeah, it was some new instructor. I think my dad oversold my talents a little…”

Felix looks skeptical. Well of fucking course he does. Sylvain does his best to look like he doesn’t understand why he would be skeptical, quirking his brows at him, but Felix explains why when he gives him a moment of silence. “Were you using training weapons?”

It’s framed like a question, but Sylvain knows it’s a challenge. Because he knows the cut in the bruise is a little much for a practice weapon, but he also knows a new instructor probably shouldn’t have been using a real weapon on him.

“No.” He decides to be honest, because half-truths are easier to keep track of than full lies. “Like I said, he thought I was more skilled than I am. He learned his lesson, I’m sure! If he’s even allowed to train me again, I’m sure we’ll use wooden instruments next time.”

Felix still looks uncertain, and Sylvain breathes out with impatience. Wasn’t Felix tired? Does he really have the energy to be so demanding? “What, you worried about me?”

“Shut up,” Felix grumbles, and he finally looks away from Sylvain and allows the man to breathe easier again. It feels like there’s a little tension still, but maybe Felix is tired, because he turns away and climbs into bed. Once he’s there, he looks at Sylvain like a cat waiting to be fed, amber gaze piercing and impatient. Sylvain chuckles softly, moving to the other side of the bed. 

The beds in the palace are luxurious, even if this room. They’ve slept in closer quarters before--they’ll have plenty of space here. Even in the guest bedrooms, the beds are more comfortable than the ones in his own home, and he reclines with a satisfied sigh, pleased with how the night has turned out. He feels safe, now. Even if Miklan could guess whose room he ended up in, Sylvain doesn’t think he’d be bold enough to trespass in the Duke of Fraldarius’ son’s bedroom just to bother him. And now he gets even more time with his best friend, stealing a glance at him as he shifts to slide his arm under his head and prop himself up a little more. “The ball was fun, huh?”

Felix doesn’t answer, but Sylvain is getting used to that nowadays. He’s happy to fill the silence, as long as he knows Felix is listening, and he thinks he is. “Do you think Dimitri’s in love?”

“Tch.” There’s that noise again. “Dimitri is in love with someone new every time we see him.”

“Yeah. It’s cute! As long as he doesn’t give them all daggers.”

Felix smirks a little, and Sylvain’s heart hums with victory.

Without Miklan looming over his shoulder, Sylvain loosens up and becomes who he would have been at the ball otherwise, who he normally was when he spent time with his friends. He laughs quiet, breathy laughs, chats with Felix about the food at the ball, teases Felix about how Ingrid will be his sister soon, and even mentions some of the girls at the dance, in positive ways and not so positive ways. Felix doesn’t say a lot in return, but Sylvain knows he’s tired and he can feel his droopy eyes watching him. He’ll talk until Felix falls asleep if he’s allowed the privilege.

“Sylvain,” Felix speaks up, literally interrupting Sylvain as he’s started to talk about a girl who was interested in him back home. Sylvain stops, wonders what has suddenly crossed his mind. Felix still looks tired and his voice is a little heavy with sleep, and Sylvain is reminded more of the sweet boy who would crawl into his arms and cuddle when he was sad.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Why didn’t you show a healer?”

“Why didn’t I show a healer…” Sylvain repeated, mind completely blank as he tries to figure out what this has to do with his story. 

“The bruise.”

Sylvain is caught off-guard for a second. He’s still thinking about the bruise? It’s--flattering, but also difficult. “It’s just a bruise, Felix.”

“If you got it training, they should have made sure to heal you.” Again, like his question, there’s an edge to the statement. In his own way, Felix is saying, _you’re lying to me. Tell me the truth._

“I didn’t want to bother the healers with it. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s huge, and he drew blood. It must hurt.”

Sylvain huffs in frustration, wondering why Felix has to always be so observant. “Felix. It’s fine.”

His tone angers Felix, and he knows as soon as he sees those amber eyes narrow that he’s fucked up. “You’re not telling me the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” He speaks firmly, and holds Felix’s gaze steady. He’s good at lying. He doesn’t have any tells anymore.

Or, well, if he does, Felix is the only one who knows them. “No, you aren’t.” Felix sits up sharply, reminiscent of the chair screeching in the dining hall, only now it’s just the two of them and Felix doesn’t have a distraction to embarrass him. “Why are you lying to me?”

“Felix,” he sounds exasperated. He wasn’t tired a minute ago, but he’s tired now. 

“Don’t--” Felix shouts, a little too sharply, and they both flinch as it echoes a little in the big guest room. Sylvain tenses, and Felix tenses too, breathing in. “Don’t treat me like this. I’m not stupid.”

It sounds… almost vulnerable. It twists Sylvain’s gut with guilt. But he also doesn’t have the mental fortitude to address the bruise. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“You must think I’m stupid if I’m going to believe the bullshit you spout to everyone else,” Felix replies without missing a beat, and the harshness cuts Sylvain. It feels like there’s too much for him to even address.

A silence hangs between them for a moment, and even that is a victory for Felix, a confirmation of his suspicions. Sylvain knows that. He always has a quip ready, he never lets someone else get the upper hand. Felix isn’t looking any less intense, and Sylvain is shrinking under his gaze, losing the ease again and clenching his hands into fists. “Felix, please,” he whispers, weaker than he wants to be, but desperate. “Just leave it alone.”

Felix’s eyes widen with a spark of anger and Sylvain holds his breath. Despite losing sword fights to Dimitri so often, Felix is a fighter, and he shows as much win or lose. Sylvain is two years older and he’s started to lose more often than not when they spar. When Felix gets the upperhand in a fight, he doesn’t give it up. He pounces, pushes, keeps himself up and his opponent down. So it almost startles Sylvain when the burning amber turns away from him. He can’t tell if it’s easier or harder to breathe.

“Fine.”

Sylvain doesn’t know if this is good or bad. But as soon as he says it, Felix throws himself back down in bed, rolling away and tugging some of Sylvain’s covers away from his half of the bed as he does. Sylvain doesn’t move, watching Felix and holding his breath still. He knows he’s hurt him. He knows it, the hurt and anger are radiating off of Felix’s angrily curled up form in palpable waves. It makes him feel sick, and it hurts far more than the bruise ever did.

But he can’t fix it right now. He can’t convince Felix that he cares without telling him about the bruise, and his throat will go so tight he won’t be able to speak if he tries to tell him about the bruise. It’s so tight already, and Sylvain blinks a few times, breathes out a short breath, and it really does feel hard to breathe. He lies down as well, moving much more slowly and quietly than Felix, and rolling away to face the wall--to give himself and Felix both space. He was sure this was fixable, but he was also terrified that it wasn’t fixable, but it had to be, so… so he just needed to breathe. Wait. Sleep. Breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

He can’t breathe.

His lungs are fire, suddenly gasping for air where there is none. It’s so dark. So, so dark. And his lungs are fire and his whole body is in fire, freezing, burning fire. The shock of everything is so intense that he can’t move for a moment, can’t scream without air and can’t breathe through the water. 

Somehow, he surfaces, and the coughing burns more than the breathing. The fire in his lungs is in his throat. The fire around his body is freezing. There’s a dull ache in his arm that he doesn’t feel until he reaches out for something to grab onto, but he can’t find anything to grab onto. He coughs again, hard, and it feels like blood is coming up from inside him. The fire around him is starting to feel less like fire and more like biting, agonizing cold. The blood from his lips is finally gone enough to scream, but it’s a raspy weak scream. It’s so dark.

He flails again, and the dull pain in his arm becomes so sharp that he sinks underwater again. There’s not a lot of room to move around, and he realizes that as he thrashes into a wall. His hands grasp for the wall, but it’s slick with slime. It’s too dark to tell if it’s algae or some other kind of residue, but his hands don’t find purchase and he presses into the wall enough to hurt his arm more, and he cries out again. Water pours into his lungs once more, it burns and he cries. 

Even in the dark, he can feel Miklan. He coughs, gags, throws up, anything to get the water out of his lungs and reaches for the wall again. He doesn’t know how to swim, but if he can just stabilize himself, he can scream. He tries to, scratching his fingernails against the wall for grip and screams. Miklan can see him. Miklan could help him, if he wanted to. It’s so dark that he can’t see his brother’s face, but he cries and he whines and he calls Miklan’s name, splashing in the water like he’s reaching out for him. The silhouette lingers a moment longer, and then he’s gone. Sylvain screams again, scratching at the wall like he can climb it. His fingernails rip, and the freezing water surrounds him again.

It’s turned so cold. His arm doesn’t hurt anymore, numb from the freezing temperatures. His body is so heavy. He flails, but it feels like he can hardly move. A hand touches his shoulder and pulls him, harshly, out of the water.

  
  


“Sylvain!” 

His shoulders hurt from being gripped, shaken, and Sylvain gasps loudly, breathing in air as if he’s desperately clawing it back into his aching lungs. His mouth tastes like bile, and a shiver races down his entire body. He heaves, still lost between the well and the bedroom, torn between whether or not his lungs are full of water or not, and he coughs, but no water comes out. His breaths are rasps, he’s still shaking, and his face is wet.

And Felix is staring at him in pure, absolute terror.

“Fe,” Sylvain gasps, still hazy from the dream. It felt so real. It always feels so real, every time he falls in again. He wheezes as he reaches for his best friend, and Felix squeezes his shoulders harder in turn. It hurts, but it’s grounding, and Sylvain closes his eyes for a second as he breathes in, deeply, and breathes in just air. He’s so far gone that he can’t even think to pull himself together, just pressing closer to the comfort that he never normally has when he wakes up from this dream.

“Sylvain,” Felix repeats, but his voice is softer this time. Scared, maybe. Sylvain physically lacks the strength to soothe him. His own hands curl into the fabric of Felix’s bed clothes, face pressing to Felix’s shoulder as he shivers again. Felix is so warm. So warm and safe, and Sylvain is trembling and freezing. Felix anchors him. He holds him tight, and it means so much not to feel like he’s sinking for a moment.

Felix is quiet for as long as it takes for Sylvain catch his breath, for his shivers to subside. Sylvain doesn’t pull away from Felix as he calms himself down, and Felix, probably desperate, does his best to be comforting. His hands slowly release from Sylvain’s shoulders, and rub over his back. Sylvain shivers inadvertently, and Felix falters, and the feel of his touch leaving becomes the loneliest feeling Sylvain has ever known. He opens his mouth, almost ready to ask for him to keep going, but Felix does so again without prompting. His fingers are so small, but they’re rough from callous, and Sylvain can feel that through his shirt. They move back up, and experimentally touch Sylvain’s hair. He closes his eyes and sighs, but it’s overwhelming, almost. He’s never been touched this way. With affection. With care. He isn't even sure where Felix learned it. His mother died when he was so young; does his body have memories of her touch that his head doesn’t have? He tries to stop thinking for once, while he forces himself to be as aware as possible of Felix’s fingers, his gentle touches. The well is fading from his mind and body now, the cold leaving his body to be replaced by Felix’s warmth.

Sylvain indulges a little longer. He knows being curled up in Felix’s chest is probably pathetic, but Goddess, he needs it right now. Maybe it’s just his way of returning the favor for all the times their positions were reversed. Maybe that’s why Felix is trying so hard now. Maybe--maybe that’s where Felix learned this softness from.

Slowly, he puts distance between them. Felix allows it, taking his hand back slowly as Sylvain leans out of it. He decides to sit up, and Felix sits up too, watching like a hawk. Aware that he was crying, and that he’s probably cried on Felix’s shirt, Sylvain moves his hands to his face, pressing his fingers hard against his eyes for a moment before trying to wipe the mess of tears away. Felix says nothing, just silent, piercing amber gaze watching every movement Sylvain makes.

“Sorry,” he finally speaks, letting his hands fall from his face as he gives a forced grin. It’s a force of habit. He realizes as soon as he’s done it that he might incur Felix’s wrath again.

“It’s… okay…” Felix is doing the verbal equivalent of shrugging, looking down at the bed to pass a moment of discomfort. It’s nice not to be yelled at, to be honest, even if Sylvain knows it means he’s really a mess right now for Felix to allow it. “You don’t have to apologize anyway. Except for the stupid smile.”

“Ah.” Well, there it is, but it’s much softer than he expects. “I’m sorry for my smile.”

“It’s fake.”

“It is.”

Felix shifts, and his own discomfort is poignant. But Sylvain really can see that he’s trying, and it makes his heart pound against his ribcage with affection. To be cared about is an incredible feeling. Maybe drowning in a well was worth it for this. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, before.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you, before,” Sylvain returns, wanting to remind Felix that he wasn’t shouting over nothing. How could Felix ever be in the wrong? “The truth… is hard for me.”

“You lie a lot. I can tell when you do.” Felix still isn’t looking at him, but Sylvain is watching him closely. His eyebrows knit together, but it doesn’t look as much like anger right now.

“I’m sorry. It’s ah… maybe, a survival instinct.”

“I’m not a threat to you, Sylvain.”

“I know that.”

Felix finally looks up at him again, and his eyes are sharper than the lance Sylvain took to the side a few days ago. His breath catches for a moment, and he looks down at his hands. Maybe Felix actually is a threat to him. He runs his tongue over his lips, and looks towards the door for the sake of not looking at Felix.

There’s silence between them, for a long moment, and both of them struggle to fill it. Sylvain’s insides hurt. His head hurts. He doesn’t want to lie to Felix, but he doesn’t know if he can handle honesty. But seeing Felix so downtrodden hurts more than anything he’s been through so far, and his hands fidget as he tries to piece truths he has never spoken before together in his head.

“Do…” Felix starts and stops, swallowing like he’s steeling himself. Sylvain tries to offer eye contact, but Felix isn’t looking at him. “Do you… trust me…?”

“Yes.” Sylvain answers without even an instant of hesitation. There’s no one in Fódlan he trusts more than Felix. The last thing he wants is for Felix to think this is personal, in any capacity, and it’s become his number one mission to ensure that isn’t the case. “Yes, I trust you. It’s not about you, at all. It’s about me. Maybe I was born a pathological liar! I can’t help myself, you know?”

Felix looks up at him with narrowed eyes, and Sylvain realizes, fuck, I just lied right then. Except, is it getting to the point where if he can’t stop himself from lying about lying when he’s trying with all his heart to be honest, then maybe it is the truth that he’s a pathological liar. Maybe he’s always lied because it’s in his nature to lie. The twisting logic makes his head hurt more. “Sorry, sorry,” he starts again, raking a hand through his hair and running his tongue over his dry lips again. “I didn’t--I’m sorry. This is hard for me.”

“I don’t even know what you don’t want to tell me.” Felix sounds a little annoyed, but Sylvain’s learning that’s just the way teenaged-Felix speaks now. “About the bruise, or about the dream? I don’t--I’m not trying to… pry…” he stops for a moment, and Sylvain gives him the opportunity to find the rest of his sentence, but he seems to be coming up short.

“I know, Fe. You… you just care about me, right?” He holds his breath.

Felix takes a second to answer, but only a second. “Yeah...”

_ Yeah _ . Ah. It feels almost too good to hear.

“Then… I’ll tell you,” Sylvain offers, and Felix looks up at him with a desperation in his eyes that really catches Sylvain off guard and catches in his throat again. “But I need… some things from you, in return.”

Felix tenses, and it makes Sylvain wonder what Felix could possibly have to hide from him. His brows draw together suspiciously, looking Sylvain over with skepticism. “What?”

“First, I need you to know that if I tell you this, you--you have to just… accept it. Okay? Just, please, listen to me calmly and… just accept what I say. This isn’t something I’m asking you to fix. This isn’t something I think... can be fixed. So please, can you promise me that?”

Felix shifts uncomfortably, agreeing to nothing. “What else?”

“What else? You haven’t agreed to the first thing yet!”

“I’ll agree to it all after. If I agree to it,” he tacks on quickly, not wanting to admit anything too soon. Sylvain clicks his tongue, but at least their back and forth is helping to stabilize him.

“The other thing was just that I…” he pauses, realizing just in time what the other thing is. He looks down at his hands for a moment, curling them into fists and letting them go slack again. Ahh. How far is too far? How much is too demanding? He licks his lips, and Felix juts his neck like he’s impatient for the next demand. “The other thing was just… that… it might be hard for me to say. So I need… your patience. If you want me to say this, I need your patience.”

“Anything else?” Felix barks, in a manner that isn’t anywhere as close to patience as Sylvain would have preferred, but the way he speaks is so endearing that the corner of Sylvain’s lips lift in the slightest smile for just a second.

“Yeah. It would be sweet if you held my hands,” he laughs, but it isn’t as light and clever and flirty as he intends. Felix hears that in his voice, and it makes Sylvain tense. 

“Anything else?”

“Uh…” Sylvain falters, not expecting Felix to completely brush over what he’d said but also wracking his brain to try and recall if there is anything else. There isn’t, is there? “No, I think that’s… it…”

Felix considers for a moment, before reaching across the sheets and taking Sylvain’s hands. He doesn’t look at him, and he doesn’t entwine their fingers or squeeze. The pads of his fingers rest soft on the inside of Sylvain’s, just above his palm. Sylvain’s heart swells in his chest at the delicate sensation, hardly able to believe it’s Felix offering it to him. He’s frozen in the moment, staring at their hands for too long, but hopefully, Felix thinks he’s bracing himself.

“Okay,” Sylvain whispers, and he has to run his tongue over his dry lips again. “Okay. Okay.” Felix is watching him intently, and Sylvain doesn’t even know how his eyes can catch the light in such a dark room, but it’s intimidating and soothing at the same time, holding his gaze when he can and dropping his eyes when he can’t. “Okay. When… when I was five or six… I fell into a well.”

Felix is silent for a moment, and Sylvain feels a tension run up his spine. When he says it, it sounds like the beginning of an almost comical story. Did you hear about how stupid Sylvain is? The idiot fell into a well! It’s a natural fit for him, really, and his throat is tight for a moment, and his lips are dry again. “Yeah… yeah, it was pretty… stupid of me. I shouldn’t--... I shouldn’t have climbed up there, but, I did, and I fell.”

Felix still isn’t speaking, and Sylvain feels like that’s his cue to continue speaking, even though it’s already getting a little challenging. “You can’t really understand… how deep they are unless you’ve fallen in. Which I don’t--recommend.” Is he seriously joking right now? His coping mechanisms are too strong for even himself to bite back. “But yeah, so… I fell in. It feels like falling forever. You can’t breathe when you’re falling like that. Your body freezes up, I think, and… I think I crashed against the wall as I was falling too, because when I was in the water I realized my arm hurt when I tried to move it, to swim. But… the-the water was so cold. You know how it is, it was so cold. I felt like I was going to freeze to death. And I can’t swim. The walls were slimy from… algae, I guess? I couldn’t get a grip. I kept breathing in water. It burned. I…” Sylvain falters, realizes he’s trembling again when Felix presses his fingers a little closer to his own. “When… I could breathe, I screamed and screamed, and cried. It was freezing… it was so cold that I couldn’t move to swim, to keep my head above water. No one--no one was coming. No one could hear me. Or no one--... cared… I don’t know. I don’t know.” He can’t help squeezing Felix’s hands this time, hanging his head as he takes a quivering breath, but Felix squeezes his hands back and the warmth gives Sylvain strength. He holds onto it for a moment before he manages to speak again. “I… um… yeah… I don’t know how long I was down there. It felt like so long. Eventually, someone heard me, and guards got me out, I’m told. I can’t remember that part. I was sick for like a week after. My body was so cold it wouldn’t move.

“I woke up--probably not for the first time, but for the first time I can remember now, and my parents wanted to know what had happened, because… I don’t know if I was out the whole time after or just confused. I just remember they seemed mad at me when they asked me. Not…” he breathes in sharply, realizing he’s about to touch on a nerve of his own, and Felix squeezes his hands again. Sylvain leans a little closer to him. “Not worried. Angry. So… I told them, I’d fallen in. My dad told me recklessness like that would get me killed. Think before I act so stupidly. It’s all pretty hazy but I really remember how they acted. Oh--my arm was broken, too. My right arm. I can still feel it sometimes, when I strain myself. You know how you guys say I’m weak, sometimes, when we spar? I feel it in my arm when I try to fend you guys off. I think that’s why. Not--like,” he falters, realizing he might be being an asshole. “I’m not complaining.”

“It’s fine.” Felix’s voice is low, and strained, and it sounds older than he’s used to hearing it. Sylvain looks to meet his eyes to ensure Felix is being honest, but decides to trust him so he can hang his head again.

“Okay,” he whispers, nodding to himself. “Okay. There’s a… little more to it.”

Felix nods slowly, and Sylvain watches his eyes dart to Sylvain’s side, where the bruise is. He almost laughs, shaking his head a little at Felix’s silent question.  _ Don’t be so eager, we aren’t quite there yet _ .

“I um… I don’t know why my parents never asked about this. They never asked why I was in town, how I got to the well in the first place. I was five. You know?” He hesitates, lets the question linger in the air, and watches Felix’s face for a moment before looking down at their hands. “The truth is… Miklan asked me if I wanted to go into town. Like… for fun, or shopping, or something. I was so excited to spend time with him. I was so happy that I would have agreed to go anywhere. Miklan was always… awful to me. Cold, mean, even cruel, but even when I was little I knew he was my brother and… I wanted… I don’t know. I wanted him to love me. Every time Miklan showed me attention, I always thought, this is the moment where things change. Maybe… if he spends time with me… he’ll like me...”

“Sylvain,” Felix breathes, and he can tell that his clever friend has put the pieces together, not that the equation is particularly hard at this point. Sylvain smiles, and it twists in agony and he hides his face again.

“Miklan pushed me into the well.” He’s never spoken those words aloud before, to anyone, and it doesn’t feel like any weight has been lifted off of him to admit it. “My own brother… he pushed me in. I fell in, I was drowning, I looked up and he looked down at me and I couldn’t see his face but I could see it was him. And he disappeared, and I thought--I hoped… maybe I did fall. Maybe it  _ was  _ my mistake, and he was going to get help. But he never… he never…”

Felix catches him when he breaks. His hands move seamlessly from Sylvain’s hands, to his shoulders, both boys shifting closer to each other at the same time. His palm slides against them, presses to the base of his neck and encourages Sylvain to lean in, but Sylvain doesn’t need much coaxing. He’s not quite crying, but he’s breathing like he is, reaching for Felix and squeezing his skin through his shirt. Felix feels so warm under his clothes, and Sylvain can’t help pressing his face into the crook of his neck. A part of him feels guilty that Felix is having to deal with him like this; another part is so, so grateful that Felix is here, that he can trust him with the truths he’s never trusted anyone else with. He needs it. He needs him. He whines softly as Felix’s hand runs from his hair down his neck, closing his eyes and relaxing into his touch.

It takes some time again, but slowly, Sylvain puts himself back together, with Felix’s comfort. The cold lacing his body from the memory of the water is finally starting to dissipate, breathing slowly and leaning his forehead into the heat of Felix’s neck. He thinks now, if he tried, he could sit back up, but he wants to stay close a little longer, and Felix indulges him.

“I know why Miklan hates me. I get it. When I was born, I took everything away from him.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I did, inadvertently,” he argues, and Felix breathes out an annoyed huff of breath that makes Sylvain’s chest feel a little lighter. “I’d hate me too. But I spent so long wishing that Miklan would change his mind about me. Wishing he could see me, instead of my Crest, but…” But, what? He never did? Or was it, but maybe there wasn’t anything worth seeing? Maybe who he is wasn’t lovable anyway. Sylvain is telling half-truths again, but these are so coiled in self-loathing that he prays Felix won’t pick up on them. “Nothing ever changed. I believed. I trusted him again and again, and he--”

“Wait,” Felix starts, and Sylvain almost jumps in his grip, before quickly going slack again, and maybe even squirming a little closer. “You aren’t going to tell me he’s tried more than once, are you?”

Sylvain doesn’t know what to say, but he tries. He opens his mouth and breathes, and Felix can probably feel that breath on his neck as Sylvain considers, and closes his mouth again. The silence hangs in the air for too long.

“The bruise--”

“Was Miklan, yeah. I don’t trust him not to hurt me anymore, but it gets into my head that, maybe if I listen to him, he’ll hurt me less. Miklan wanted to train, so I agreed. When we got to the pitch, he insisted we use real weapons. Something along the lines of, you can’t get better if you aren’t truly afraid of being hit. But he knows where my arm is weak, so it wasn’t hard for him to overpower me and--well… hurt me. So, I didn’t go to a healer, because they’d ask what happened.” He’s starting to get calmer. It’s a combination of Felix’s touch, and the numbness of admitting what’s become such a cemented truth in his life. “I never tell anyone what happened,” he adds quickly, feeling Felix’s body shift like he’s about to touch on that. “It would make things worse. The truth is, my parents see what he does to me, and they don’t stop him. But if I bring it up--things might get worse. I don’t want to… risk… I don’t know.” He cuts himself off, closes his eyes, and nestles closer into Felix’s embrace.

“How many times has he done this?” Felix’s question is one Sylvain was hoping wouldn’t be asked, but he also isn’t remotely surprised that he does. 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Felix’s voice raises with his question, and Sylvain breathes in slowly, hands sliding against his shirt limply for a moment before curling into the fabric again. He really should sit up again, but he can’t bring himself to do so. He knows Felix understands what he’s asking now, too, but Sylvain can’t bring himself to meet his eyes, or show his face, when he admits all of it.

“I don’t know. I’ve lost count.”

Not many things can make Felix so dumb-struck that he’s silent, but this seems to be one of those things. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he slumps a little, making Sylvain pull back for half a second to keep from knocking them both over. Felix stabilizes them, and winds his arms around Sylvain even tighter. He breathes in the scent of his skin again, and out against him. Faintly, he remembers Felix demanding that Sylvain hold him like this, as children, when the cold got too intense. “When we made our promise,” Felix starts, but he trails off like he doesn’t have the strength to voice it. 

Sylvain doesn’t either, but he does anyway. “Yeah. It was snowing, and Miklan offered to take me out to play in it. I didn’t know the forests in Fraldarius very well, and for a while, Miklan… let me sit on his shoulders… it made me feel so incredible. Warm. I felt so close to him, like we were really brothers.” He’s silent for a moment, and Felix doesn’t press him, but he holds him a little tighter, and Sylvain appreciates it, so much. “But he was carrying me so I would have less to go off of when my feet were finally on the ground. He offered to play hide and seek, told me to count to 100. He never played with me, but I always wanted to think things were changing, and that he finally loved me, and wanted to be my brother, too. It was snowing so much that when I opened my eyes, the tracks he left were almost gone. Then, they disappeared. It wasn’t as scary as the well. I didn’t feel as afraid of dying as I did, down there. But I almost did die…”

“Yes… your family had to extend their stay with us. You were bedridden. I thought--”

“I know. You were so worried about me. It touched my heart.”

Felix is silent, and Sylvain doesn’t blame him. Maybe he’s overstepped a little, but it was the truth. No one had ever cried so much for him. No one had ever been so afraid of his death. It makes Sylvain feel so much lighter to reminisce. 

“And then of course, you made me promise not to die,” Sylvain says, the faintest hint of a laugh in his voice. 

“Not to die without me,” Felix corrects him--firmly, the condition always the oddest part of the promise. Wouldn’t a child have simply asked Sylvain to be careful, to stay safe? Felix had pressed for a great deal more as a child. Death, together or not at all. Sylvain was in no position to deny him. 

“Not without you. I’ve been doing my best to keep it.”

“How can you tell me all this and expect me to do nothing?!” Felix’s voice is suddenly startlingly loud, and Sylvain flinches again, trying to decide between burrowing his face further into Felix’s neck or facing him, but the former is so much easier to do. He squeezes Felix a little tighter in apology, but that doesn’t seem to cut it, because Felix is squirming out of his grip and demanding they face each other again. “Sylvain, your brother has tried to kill you as recently as a week ago, and I’m supposed to do nothing about it?!”

“I don’t know if he was trying to kill me a week ago,” Sylvain replies, knowing the lackadaisical approach is going to make Felix angrier but doing it anyway. “I think he just wanted to hurt me. He probably would have killed me if he wanted that.”

Was that meant to be reassuring? Felix doesn’t look reassured in the least, amber eyes widening as his jaw tenses, only for a moment before he’s shouting again. “You can’t go back there!”

“Fe, where else am I gonna go?” Sylvain asks, but in truth, he has toyed with the idea of running away before. He doesn’t care about being a noble. He doesn’t really like the girls, the potential wives, who come around their estate. He doesn’t want to be the next Margrave, and he doesn’t want to keep living with his awful family. But there is  _ something  _ he doesn’t want to leave. “I don’t have a choice. I have to stay. He’ll… stop eventually, maybe.”

“When you’re dead!” Felix is starting to get a little too loud, and Sylvain closes his eyes for a moment, brow furrowing in exhaustion. Felix is probably right. Sylvain doesn’t know how any of this can end. If he stays in Gautier forever, will Miklan ever stop? But there isn’t an alternative, and Sylvain shrugs weakly, just wanting Felix to stop shouting.

“Where else am I gonna go? What else am I gonna do?” Sylvain repeats, opening his eyes and looking up at Felix.

It looks like Felix doesn’t know what to say for a moment, thin eyebrows drawing together in thought. Sylvain knows there isn’t an answer, but he understands why Felix is trying to find one. If their roles were reversed, he’s sure he couldn’t just shrug this off either. “You could… come stay with my family,” Felix offers, but the lack of confidence in his words makes it clear he doubts it would really work.

“My family would take it as a great insult if I left and went to stay in Fraldarius, Felix. Your family is more important than mine, but I still doubt Rodrigue would want to make enemies of my family.”

“If he understood, he’d let you stay,” Felix insists, but Sylvain doesn’t think it’s true. They’re both still kids, and they don’t know much about the way government works, but Sylvain is sure he knows enough to know that House Fraldarius wouldn’t want a dispute like that with House Gautier, even if Rodrigue did care about Sylvain. And the idea of putting Felix’s family through strife for him makes him feel terrible. 

“You promised you’d just listen and accept it. I need you to do that, please.”

“No!”

“Please, Fe.”

“No…”

When Sylvain feels like he’s getting too close to breaking, he’s surprised to realize that the voice that’s cracking under it all right now is Felix’s. A minute ago he’d been begging he’d stop screaming so that their next-door neighbor didn’t call the guards--now, Felix was barely speaking above a whisper. Sylvain looks up at his face, sharply, and Felix’s lip quivers for a second before he watches the hard line of his jaw press together harshly. It isn’t enough to make him look okay; his brows are coming together, and his eyes--it catches Sylvain off-guard by how it goes straight to his heart to see the tears gathering in the corners. He looks like a child again, running up to Sylvain and crying about Dimitri this, or swords that. As it always did when they were young, it feels like Sylvain’s greatest, most significant duty to fix the pain Felix is in, even if his stomach hurts from the guilt of knowing he’s made him so upset now. But at the same time, selfishly, it makes his whole body feel light to see Felix crying over him. He hates himself for it, but he cherishes Felix. To mean so much to someone makes it feel so much easier to cope with the rest of his existence.

“Fe, hey,” Sylvain whispers, softer than anything, and Felix hangs his head and leans into Sylvain. Sylvain breathes in and winds his arms around him like it’s the easiest thing in the world, lightly leaning his head against the younger man’s. For all his harshness and toughness, the soft baby is still under the surface; and maybe his attitude is Felix’s own way of protecting himself. Personally, Sylvain prefers humor, but he feels honored to get to see the part of Felix that he wants to hide from everyone else, even if he thinks he’s an expert at handling crybaby-Felix anyway. “It’s okay. I’m going to be okay.”

“You have to be,” Felix replies, and despite the tears, there’s a hard edge to his voice. A threat. Sylvain tries not to laugh at the sound of it, but he still smiles and nuzzles his face a little closer. 

“I know. I am. I won’t forget our promise.”

“I want--” Felix pauses a moment, and Sylvain can hear him sniffling and clearing his throat like he’s trying to make himself sound tough and angry again, but the mirage is ruined for Sylvain, whose back with Faerghus’s weepiest once again. “I want to live a really long time.”

“You do? You don’t want to die in some great battle, with your favorite sword by your side?” Sylvain teases, running his hands down Felix’s back and feeling his skin tremble just under his clothes. Sylvain squeezes his shoulder when he makes his way back to the top, and Felix leans into him a little more. 

“No,” he grumbles, wiping his face as best as he can when most of his body is pressed into Sylvain’s. He gets his hands away from his face again and, for lack of anywhere else to put them, winds them around Sylvain’s waist. “I want to live until I’m a hundred.”

This sounds like news to Sylvain, but he nods all the same, quiet for a moment as he toys with the information. “Then I’ll have to live to a hundred and two.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty old,” Sylvain laughs, and it sounds much more real this time. It is more real; whether or not he can live to be 102, hearing Felix say all this makes his heart glow with warmth, pumping it through his body so it radiates outward. “Maybe we should pick something more reasonable!”

“It’s reasonable,” Felix grumbles again, sounding grouchier again this time, and he rests his chin on Sylvain’s shoulder. The point of it digs in a little, but it feels like Felix. Still a little sharp, even snuggled up in Sylvain’s arms with tears all over his face. Regardless, it doesn’t sound like Sylvain’s been left much room to argue. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs again, leaning his forehead against Felix’s shoulder once more. “A hundred and two. I’ll do that as long as you leave this alone.”

“I’ll…” Felix pauses a moment, shifting his head a little. Sylvain winces at his chin, but Felix’s hands clench around the shirt he’s wearing at the comfort outweighs the pain. “I’ll leave it alone as long as I know you’ll be okay,” he murmurs, voice soft. Sylvain doesn’t know where this tough, strong version of Felix came from, but he really appreciates how much affection Felix is giving him despite that version. The warmth could burn him up, and he loves it. 

“It’s a deal. Part two,” he tacks on, as a joke. 

Felix takes it seriously. He squirms out of Sylvain’s arms, leaving the man close to shivering from being in the cold on his own again. He sniffles, and his hands move to his face again, fingers twisting his sleeves around so that he can use them to dry his face. There’s wet spots from his tears all over his wrists, and his angry, amber eyes are now surrounded in puffy pink skin. Sylvain feels bad that he doesn’t feel that bad; mostly, he just feels cherished. Significant. Felix wipes his hands on the bottom of his shirt as well, still sniffling a little here and there, and when his face and his hands are finally decidedly dry, he reaches towards Sylvain with his little fist curled up, and his pinky extended. “A promise,” he says, and his eyes are as intense as ever as he looks back up at Sylvain.

The older of the two draws in a breath. Felix really is too much. But he’d promise him anything. His pinky winds around Felix’s, and they both watch, silent, as they curl around each other. Something small, that means nothing and yet also means everything. 

They stay like that for a while; Sylvain, in truth, has no idea how long a while really is. Fhirdiad is cold, even in the warmth of the castle, even under the sheets of their fanciest guest beds. The air isn’t cold enough for breath to show, but there’s still a chill in the air that raises goosebumps on your neck if you sit alone in it for too long. The contact keeps Sylvain from shivering, his eyes and Felix’s eyes both looking down at their pinkies, still together. He can feel Felix’s breathing, in the slightest tug at their fingers. Sylvain feels like they’re connected, and the sensation buzzes through his body. They are connected, until death. Until a hundred, and a hundred and two. That was going to be hard work.

The moment is broken when Felix yawns, and his mouth stretches so big it almost distorts his face. Sylvain laughs at how he looks, and Felix tugs his hand back indignantly, but there’s no real fire in either of them anymore. “Let’s sleep,” he whispers, and argumentative, bratty Felix has nothing to say to the contrary, for once.

Sylvain can remember the cold from being lost in the mountains just about as well as he can remember the cold of the well, feeling like his body might turn to ice and drown him himself. He can remember the burn that comes with the threat of frostbite, a cold so sharp it could kill. But Sylvain also remembers the guest room in Fraldarius where he stayed, with a weepy, soft Felix by his side, crying pitiful tears that he’d nearly lost his best friend. He remembers his small arms trying to wrap around him, the dampness in his shirt from all the tears from Felix’s face. Most of all, he remembers how Felix’s concern was warm enough to get the cold to loosen its icy grip on his body. How the fireglow couldn’t compare to what Felix offered him; how their pinky promise then--to die together--had made his hands feel hot and pushed back the chill. It feels the same now, with Felix sleeping almost as close. Slow, sleepy breaths fall against Sylvain’s collar and Sylvain breathes it in, taking Felix’s warmth and letting it heat up his whole body. It was true when they were little kids, and it’s true now, too. As long as Sylvain has Felix to rely on, he can handle anything. Felix will keep him warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! done... two months later.... sorry i was on a roll with this and then suddenly the roll went away and now im just trying to make sure its decent enough to finally post... bleh. oh well! happy very late sylvix week everyone. sylvix week should be every week anyway!  
> so anyway i hope you enjoy! ty for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trapped in a collapsing building;  
> come find me now, we'll hideout, we'll speak in our secret tongues.  
> will you come back to my corner? spent too long alone tonight.  
> [would you come and brighten my corner?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9OaT3_skWw) a lit torch to the woodpile high.
> 
> thanks for reading! ; v ;


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